


ACOTAR Prompts

by librarian_of_velaris



Category: A Court of Thorns and Roses Series - Sarah J. Maas
Genre: Angry Kissing, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Comfort, Cute, Date Night, Distractions, F/M, Fights, First Dates, Fluff, Funny, Mild Smut, Mutual Pining, Pregnancy, illyrian camp, prompts
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-18
Updated: 2019-06-10
Packaged: 2019-06-28 23:35:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 11,847
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15717384
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/librarian_of_velaris/pseuds/librarian_of_velaris
Summary: A compilation of oneshots and fics from prompts that I've written/answered on Tumblr.





	1. The Cottage

Azriel hadn’t seen Elain in two days. 

Usually she’d be home by the time he returned from his latest mission, the smell of baked goods flooding through the small cottage they shared. 

* * *

They both fell in love with their new home as soon as they stepped foot into the cozy space that Azriel–with the help of Cassian and Rhys–had built for Elain. The cottage was situated right outside of Velaris, surrounded by trees and greenery. Azriel had chosen this place not only for its safety, but for the views it offered. Not to mention the ample gardening space. And the quiet.

The townhouse had been too loud for them, too crowded, too hectic. Feyre and Rhys spent most of their time–and nights–there, and so was Cassian, when he wasn’t stuck at the Illyrian camps. Then there was Nesta, who had her own apartment, but chose to sleep in Cassian’s room when he was home. 

One particularly unfortunate night, Elain and Azriel learned just how loud the townhouse could be. After all, they shared walls with not just Cassian, but Feyre and Rhys as well. And they’d forgotten to sound-proof their room. 

Azriel and Elain didn’t sleep that night. Instead, Elain told Azriel they needed a place of their own. Azriel agreed without question. 

But he didn’t want to just “find a place” for them. He wanted to build it, to create her dream home. And he knew just what it would look like. 

Building their dream home only took a few months. Azriel worked night and day, claiming to be out on spying missions (lest he spoil the surprise). When it was finally done, furnishings and all, he flew back to the townhouse to find Elain. 

“I want to show you something,” he’d said, wrapping his arms around her and whispering in her ear. She gave him a confused stare but nodded, and let him take her into his arms. Then they were flying to the woods. 

Azriel asked her to close her eyes and she obliged. Only when she was on solid ground, standing in front of their new home, did Azriel tell her to open her eyes. 

And then she burst into tears, smiling and kissing Azriel as he explained that the cottage was their home, that he’d built it, and even ensured that the garden attached was located exactly where the sun would shine the brightest in the heart of day, ensuring her shrubs and flowers would grow beautifully. 

* * *

The first day she was missing, Azriel checked the garden for Elain, to no avail. He checked the kitchen, and then the bedroom, but Elain wasn’t there. Hadn’t been there. Her scent was faint, as though she’d been gone for some time. 

He sped to the Townhouse looking for his wife but was stopped by Feyre. 

“Just where do you think you’re going?” she asked.

“Where’s Elain.” 

He could smell her; she must be here,  _somewhere_ –

“She’s here, and she’s safe. She’s okay,” Feyre said, but that did nothing to calm Azriel’s nerves. 

“I want to–”

“She needs some space, Az. Give her a couple days.” 

* * *

Two days ago Elain had left their cottage with not even a word to him. No message, nothing. Azriel was going out of his mind. What did he do to make her run away? To leave their home, to leave him? 

_No, no she didn’t leave you_ , he reminded himself.  _She would have said something._

But he didn’t know what this was all about. He’d racked his brain, searching for something he’d done wrong, a mistake he’d made, anything that could have sent her running, but…

He sighed and dragged a hand through his dark hair. He couldn’t think of  _anything_ –

And then he caught the scent of lilacs and daisies drifting towards the cottage, towards him.

_Elain._

She was home. 

Azriel couldn’t help but run outside to his wife and embracing her, holding her tight and planting what seemed like hundreds of kisses on her forehead.

“Elain,” he breathed, relieved to finally see her again, “I’ve missed you so much.”

“I missed you too, Az.”

Giving her one last kiss, he moved back a step, enough so that he could see her, and she him. He took her hand. “Are…are you mad at me, Elain? You were gone for two days, and I–”

“I know. I’m sorry,” she interrupted, “but, well…I have something to tell you.” 

“So you  _are_ –”

“Of course I’m not mad at you, Az. I could never be mad at you.” 

Azriel loosed a relieved sigh. 

“But,” she continued, “I left because I needed to talk to my sisters first, because I know how hard it is, and, well…I wanted to be sure before I told you.” 

“You can tell me anything, Elain. You know that.” 

She smiled at him. “I’m pregnant, Az.” 


	2. Food Fights and Quiet Nights

Azriel was always quiet. 

It wasn’t that he had nothing to say; in fact, he was quite vocal when necessary, but he preferred the quiet. The solace. 

Unfortunately, the rest of the Inner Circle didn’t seem to agree. 

Which was why now, at the dinner table, Azriel was cloaked in shadows, drowning out the voices of Cassian and Rhys, who were going at it over Cauldron-knew-what. Azriel didn’t seem to care. As soon as Cassian’s voice turned into a yell–more like a roar, really–Azriel’s shadows sprang up, protecting him from the volume. Lest he get another headache. 

Granted, he had Elain’s elixir for that, but still. He’d rather not waste the product.  

He rubbed his temples. No headache yet, thank the Cauldron, but if they didn’t stop soon…well, then he’d be out of luck. 

These Illyrians had no manners. None, he realized, as the shadows curled around Az, shielding him from the noise. Normally, his shadows could protect hi from any and all noise. It was a blessing, really, to be able to drown out these Illyrians when these things happened, but tonight…tonight Azriel could hear muffled screams, his shadows unable to keep them out. 

“YOU LISTEN HERE CASS–” Rhys, must’ve been red in the face from yelling.

“WHY SHOULD I BOTHER…TO YOU WHEN–”

“YOU…MY–” 

“YOUR WHAT–” 

“MY…YOU IMBECILE.” 

Azriel couldn’t make out the words and frankly, didn’t care to. So long as he was cloaked in shadows, the volume to a minimum, he was set until this whole fight blew over–

But then there was a  _crash,_ and Azriel sighed. Of course they were fighting.  _Of course._  It wasn’t as though they could have one normal, civil dinner. Nope, his family didn’t operate like that. 

They definitely wouldn’t be finishing this meal. 

A jumble of sounds made it through the shadows. Az could make out plates crashing, fists flying, and of course, more yelling. This time, though, he heard female voices. 

“Can you at least–”

“Cauldron, Cass–” he could hear Nesta hiss. 

And then a muffled voice–a whisper–pushed through the shadows. 

“Azriel?” 

He knew the tone, the female lilt that sang to him, calling his name whenever she was near.

_Elain._

But his shadows had never let him hear whispers, not when they were surrounding him, cloaking him in quiet. 

“Az…?” She called again through the shadows. He let them part slightly, enough for him to see her. 

“Elain? Is everything alright?” He asked as he took in her features, eyes wide and brow furrowed. She was worried. About what, though, he had no idea. 

“I just, well, you’ve been in the shadows so long and, I, I just…I wanted to make sure you were okay.” 

Azriel strained to hear her over the onslaught of noise brought on by the Inner Circle. Cassian and Rhys were still going at it, it seemed. He tried not to notice the food that covered the walls, the table, even Elain. 

“I’m okay,” he said, “just trying to get some peace and quiet while they hash this out.” 

“Oh…well, I’m not sure it’ll end anytime soon,” she said, picking peas out of her hair. 

She didn’t deserve to be caught in the crossfire, Azriel thought, having to pick tonight’s dinner from her body. Elain was the last female who should’ve been subject to this–this immaturity. 

“Would you like to join me?” Azriel whispered a little too quietly. 

Elain saw his lips move, but heard no sound. 

“What did you say?” 

“Would you like to join me–in here,” he said louder, gesturing to the shadows around him. “It’s quiet, and food-free, and you wouldn’t have to worry about getting caught in their fight…” 

She smiled. “That would be great.” 

Soon shadows cloaked them both, shielding them from the flying food and the screams and yells of the Inner Circle. 

“So, what exactly happened?” Azriel asked her. “I retreated before I could hear what this fight was about.” 

Elain rolled her eyes. “It was the stupidest thing, really. Apparently Cassian stole Rhys’s cologne…” 

And so Elain told Azriel the story of the stolen cologne, the shadows shielding them from the hectic world beyond. 


	3. You'll See

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cassian tries to ask Nesta on a date. Angst happens. Fluff ensues.

“No.”

“C’mon, Nes.”

Nesta frowned. It was one date. One date with the male she swore to hate for the rest of her immortal life.

And she would not agree to go.

“I said no, bat-boy.”

“Nesta,” Cassian started, his voice strained, “one night. It’s  _one night_ with me. You pick the place, I pay.”

No. She did not  _want_ to go on a date with Cassian. Of all the males in Velaris, he was the last one she wanted to go out with. Not after…everything. And she figured he, at the very least, felt the same. Or understood enough to leave her—the idea of  _them_ —alone.

Yet here he was, refusing to leave her doorstep.

“No,” Nesta replied, and shut the door, leaving him standing outside. Alone.

That’s when the banging started, accompanied by Cassian’s booming voice.

“Open up, Nes.”

“I’m not leaving until you open the door again.”

“I’ll just sit here until you come back.”

“…you will come back, right?”

“You’re not just going to leave me out here, alone, sitting at your door, right?”

“Right?”

Nesta laughed. Of course she’d come back. As soon as he was gone.

But the hours passed, and day turned to night, the stars shining through her windows, and Cassian still sat at her door, waiting for her to open up. To say yes. To talk to him.

“It’s been  _hours,_ ” Cassian whined through the door, “will you talk to me now?”

Nesta glared at the door. Cauldron, the bastard was insufferable. Stubborn, too. Not unlike herself, she realized with a bit of a frown. Comparing herself…to Cassian? No. No no no. They were not alike. Never. No.

She shoved the thought aside and cracked open the door so Cassian could see her. “I said no, Cass. Go home.”

“Nes, it’s one date. I haven’t seen you in weeks. You haven’t talked to me in months. Please, just…I miss you.”

_I miss you._

Nesta shrugged, rolling her eyes. One date. One date, and it was all over. He would leave, and she could finally relax. How bad could it be? She unlatched the locks and opened her door to find Cassian patiently sitting on the welcome mat, eyes looking up to her.

“Is that a yes?” Cassian asked.

“You’re paying,” she said, “and I need to get ready. Come back in an hour.”

She shut the door before Cassian could utter a yes.

It took Nesta approximately half an hour to get ready. She twisted her braided hair into a bun, highlighting her sharp cheekbones. She didn’t bother with makeup, plus it wasn’t as though she owned any, anyway. The other half hour…well, she needed a drink. Or two. Not to mention the glass of wine she had while doing her hair.

***

Cassian was right on time, knocking on the door exactly one hour later.

Nesta eyed the male. He’d clearly dressed up for the occasion. Gone were the leathers and weapons and unkempt hair, replaced by a well-fitting—and unlikely to be his, she guessed—suit, his hair neatly brushed and tied up with a leather strap. The navy hue of his pants and jacket matched that of her dress, as though…had he known she was going to wear navy? Did he  _color coordinate_ with her? She shook her head. Impossible.

“I  _may_ have asked Feyre what you were most likely to wear tonight,” Cassian drawled, as if reading her mind.

Nesta scoffed.

And then there were the flowers.

“Roses,” Nesta said blandly, “typical.”  

“First date flowers, actually, straight from Elain’s garden” Cassian snapped back.

Nesta would never tell him, but secretly she loved the flowers. The seven roses were arranged in a stunning bouquet, with smaller, white roses scattered in-between. In fact, they reminded her of Cassian’s siphons: the vibrant color, innate beauty…they reminded her of him. And she needed to put them into a vase before they started to wilt.

“Give them to me,” she said, grabbing for the roses, “I need to put them in a vase. Then we can leave.”

He simply handed them over and stood at the door, waiting.

When she was done and the doors to her apartment were locked, he held out an elbow to her. “Shall we?”

Nesta rolled her eyes. If he was playing the part, she might as well, too. So she looped her arm around his, and replied, “we shall.”

***

Leave it to Cassian to take her to the nicest restaurant in Velaris…after telling her they were going elsewhere.

“I wanted it to be a surprise,” he explained as they took their seats, pulling out a chair for her. They were dining in the most expensive restaurant, with the best view of the Sidra…he really did pull out all the stops for a first date.

Even the waiter was shocked to see them together, his eyes widening as Cassian ordered—not just for himself, but for her, too.

“I’ll have the chef’s choice, and she’ll take—”

“I can order for myself, thank you very much.”

“She’ll take the same,” Cassian finished, ignoring Nesta.

The waiter simply took the order and rushed off, presumably to escape Nesta’s icy stare, which now bore into Cassian.

“If looks could kill,” he started, “you’d have murdered me by now.”

“I already have. Twice today. Bordering on three times. In here,” she drawled and pointed to her head.

Cassian laughed. “Just trust me on this one. You can’t go wrong with any dish here.”

Nesta pursed her lips.  _Fine._ He was paying, anyway.

“I’m glad you agreed to this, Nesta,” Cassian suddenly blurted out, “I’m really, really glad.”

_He’s…glad?_ That was the first time anyone had ever said they were glad for Nesta to be a part of something.

A smile curled at her lips, her voice genuine as she said, “I am too.”

They waited for their food, teasing each other and catching up on the time they’d missed together.

“You know, if I talked to Az the way I talk to you my ass would get handed to me.”

“Are you saying I’m not handing you your ass right now,  _Lord of Bloodshed_?” Nesta retorted.

Cassian gasped, feigning offense. “ _It’s a NICKNAME._ ”

Nesta giggled. “A dumb one, at that.”

“Yours isn’t much better,  _Nes._ ”

“Idiot, you’re the one who gave that to me.”

“And I’m proud of it.”

“Don’t call me Nes.”

“Whatever you say,  _Nes,_ ” he replied, emphasizing her nickname.

She tried not to smile.  _Tried._ But her mood betrayed her, and her lips turned up in a bright, toothy grin. Cassian matched her—smile for smile—and they were beaming as they stared at each other, at their smiles, their happiness. Nesta could almost feel it as a thread, small but radiant, tied them together.

And under the table, where no one could see, their hands found each other and their fingers interlaced.

They stayed like that through their meal, smiling, teasing, talking, their hands entwined, until nothing but empty plates and drinks remained.

***

As Cassian brought her back to her apartment, Nesta found herself longing for more nights like these. Dinner with him was…well, great. She wanted to have more nights like these—more nights with  _him._

She could only hope he wanted the same.

But she had a hard time believing he wanted her for more than the novelty of it. For the fact that she didn’t make it easy for him—that she didn’t  _want_ him. At least…not then. It didn’t help that she was new, she was witty, and her tongue rivaled his in profanities.

It was natural to be attracted to that.  _For now._ Nesta couldn’t help but feel that no matter their chemistry, no matter how he made her smile…no matter whatever thread there was between them…they had an expiration date. They always would.

And as they approached her doorstep, Nesta frowned and thought of what could have been.

“I had a great time tonight,” Cassian said to her.

“Me too,” she replied. It wasn’t a lie. Up until now…well, she had been having fun.

Cassian pulled her in for a hug. Nesta hesitated, but reluctantly let his arms slide around her. He kissed her forehead. “How about a second date tomorrow night. Drinks?”

He let go of her, enough so she could pull back and stare into his hazel eyes. She should have said no. Should have told him that this was it, that one date was enough, that she didn’t want to see him again.

Instead, she simply nodded and said “how about seven? My place?”

“That’d be great, Nes,” he grinned, “see you tomorrow, then.”

Nesta unlocked the door to her apartment “See you tomorrow.”

She closed her door and watched Cassian leave, a smile plastered on his face.

But she could do nothing but frown.  _You just want what you can’t have, Cass,_ she thought.

_You’ll see._


	4. A Peony

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Azriel gives Elain a tattoo. Pure fluff.

Elain couldn’t hold still. 

She knew, of course, that it was imperative that she not move. Azriel had told her how important it was that she  _stay still._ He’d already told her as much. Twice. It wasn’t her fault she was moving! Needles  _hurt._

_“_ Would you just hold still?” Azriel sighed, lifting the tattoo needle from her skin once again. “I can’t get a good line if you’re moving around like that.” 

She narrowed her eyes at the Shadowsinger. “You try sitting like this,” she gestured to her current position on the couch, grumbling, “with a needle pushing into your skin constantly.” 

Az just pointed to his own tattoos and shrugged. 

Elain sat up. “That’s different! You–” 

“I what?” he chuckled. “It’s the same pain, Love.”

“I know,” she mumbled, and laid back down. “Let’s try again.” 

“Okay, Love. Three, two…” the needle plunged into her skin, and Azriel got back to work.

Elain winced at the pain but forced herself to remain still, though she couldn’t hide her discomfort, her face twisting as the needle pricked her skin again and again. 

***

She never thought she’d be getting a tattoo. She was never a fan in her human life, but since the Cauldron…the idea of a tattoo seemed better and better every day. She supposed this was her way to reclaim a body that had been forced to change against her will…forced into something else. With a tattoo of her choosing, Elain’s body would become hers again, the art a permanent piece of her, as well as a reminder of what she’d endured, and that she was free now. 

And she knew exactly what she wanted. A small peony, placed delicately on her ribs. 

She’d never expected Azriel to be her artist, though. She’d first asked Feyre, but her tattoos were only the results of bargains. And Rhys, she said, was no artist, nor was Cassian. Apparently Azriel had been the one to put the ink on their bodies all those years ago, and so a few days ago, on one of his regular visits to the garden, she blurted out, “will you tattoo me?” 

Az’s eyes widened. “You want a tattoo?” 

“I heard that you tattooed Cass and Rhys all those years ago…and, well, I’ve had an idea for about a year now, and, well, I thought since you knew how…” she trailed off, still blabbering a bit. 

“Love, you know it’ll hurt, right?” 

“I know.” 

“And that it’s permanent?” 

“I know,” she repeated. 

“If this is what you want, I’m happy to be your artist,” he said, interlocking his fingers with hers and giving them a squeeze. 

“Thank you,” she replied, smiling, and proceeded to tell him what, exactly, she wanted him to tattoo. 

***

“Almost done,” Azriel told her, the final needle pricks feeling like agony to her skin. 

“Oh, thank the Cauldron,” she sighed, “I’m not sure I could sit for much longer.” 

“All done,” he said, “let’s get you to a mirror.” 

He led her to their bedroom, to the full-length mirror on the wall. Elain gasped when she saw the final result. 

“It’s…Az, oh my–thank you! It’s beautiful, thank you.” 

“Thank  _you_ for letting me tattoo you, Love. This was all you.” 

“You even added color! Oh, Az, it’s perfect,” she said, wrapping her arms around him and planting a kiss on his cheek. 

Az could only smile at her while she admired his handiwork in in the mirror. 

“I love it Az, I absolutely love it.” 

“I love you, Elain. I love you,” he murmured into her hair. 

“I love you too Az.”  


	5. I Promise

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nesta's haunted by the war with Hybern, even while stuck in the Illyrian camps. Cassian notices, and they talk, but not without a bit of a fight.

Despite Nesta’s best attempts, she was unable to read tonight.

Her eyes scanned the words on the page, but they didn’t—wouldn’t—register. So she went back and read it again. And again. But she couldn’t focus, the story instead becoming background noise, replaced by other, more dangerous things.

Memories.

And ones that she needed to silence.

Usually, reading would do the trick. Throwing herself wholly into a novel allowed some semblance of an escape, if only for a few hours. For that time, she was the princess needing saving, or the heroine of an epic journey, her imagination throwing her into the plots of these books and protecting her from the depths of her own mind. When the memories of the war started to creep in, threatening to consume her, she would dive into a book, trying—begging, really—to feel something other than pain. This usually kept it at bay, and far enough away that it wouldn’t come back until the next day.

But it kept coming, and books stopped working. So she resorted to other activities. Sex, drinking, fighting…she would try anything, if it’d make her feel something other than pain. If it could help her to forget. It was better than the alternative.

No matter how self-destructive.

Nesta knew exactly what she was doing—she wasn’t naïve—but it was better to let herself implode than to be forced to face the horrors she’d survived. Even if the cost was losing her family. And the one friend she might have had.

But then Cassian whisked her off to the Illyrian camps at the behest of her sister, and suddenly she couldn’t simply turn to alcohol or sex to numb the pain. To escape the memories. The pain. So they overcame her, and she could do nothing to stop it.

That was when the horrors started.

First they came in nightmares. The King of Hybern laughing as he snapped her father’s neck, and then moved to Elain, putting a dagger to her heart. Then the king smiled as he ripped Feyre’s limbs apart. Nesta wasn’t allowed to avert her eyes as her family died before her. The king kept her alive, chained to the wall as she was forced to watch her family’s bodies decompose.

She would wake up running to the bathroom, the need to vomit overpowering. Most nights she wouldn’t make it that far before she vomited all over the floor, trying to forget the horrors from her dreams. Since then, she started keeping a bucked near her at all times.

Just in case.

The nightmares became worse, though, when Cassian appeared in them, his wings shredded and torn apart as the King summoned the Cauldron’s power and directed it towards him. He couldn’t hear her screams, her cries for him to get out of the way, and so its power obliterated him, turning him to nothing but dust and shadow as he cried out for her.

Those were the worst, she realized. The ones where Cassian died. Sometimes Nesta would wake up with tears in her eyes when Cassian was the one dying, tortured by the King of Hybern as Nesta was forced to watch.

If she only had to face these horrors while asleep, she might have been able to tolerate it. Hell, books might have protected her—kept the pain at bay.

But over time images of torture and death creeped into her mind, plaguing her day and night.  

And so now, as her they started to slowly creep back, she put her book down and walked over to the kitchen.

The craving for a drink, the need to keep the nightmares from surfacing, filled her as she tore cabinets apart looking for even the slightest drop of wine.

But after checking every cabinet she came up short. There was nothing. No wine, no liquor…the kitchen was absolutely empty, save for food and water.

Nesta should’ve known better. She and Cassian shared this small townhouse and he knew her…habits. He wasn’t going to keep any sort of alcohol where she could find it.

The need for a drink pulled at her. The nightmares—or hallucinations, really—were coming in waves. She saw Cassian’s wings ripped off, Elain’s head on a pike…she could do nothing as they became clearer, threatening her. No book could help her right now. She needed a drink.  _Needed something_  that would stop the pain.

And then Nesta saw it. In the back of the cupboard, on the highest shelf, sat a bottle of wine. She didn’t know the type, it didn’t matter, anyway. She grabbed it and poured herself a glass.

Another.

Another, until the numbness seeped in, driving away the nightmares and the pain.

Good.

She sat back on the couch and picked her book up, and found herself able to read once more. That is, until Cassian stormed up to her, empty bottle in hand.

“What’s this,” he ground out, wings flaring.

“I found it in the cabinet,” Nesta replied.

Cassian narrowed his eyes. “You  _know_ you’re not supposed to—”

“Not supposed to  _what_ ,” she spat back, “say it. Tell me what it is. Tell me why, all of a sudden, you’re telling me what to do, Cassian.”

“You know why.”

“I didn’t choose to come here.”

“But you did.”

“You all  _forced_ me to! I was doing just fine—”

“No, you weren’t,” Cassian growled, “I’ve seen you over the past year. The drinking, the sex, the—”

“ _Don’t you_   _dare judge me_   _for what I’ve done._ ”

“I’m not judging you, Nesta! I just hate seeing you like this, like…” Cassian trailed off, unable to find the right words.

“Like what,” Nesta said coolly.

“I can’t keep watching you destroy yourself, Nes. Neither can Feyre, or Elain. This…this was the only way. I’m sorry.” Cassian’s eyes grew sad as he looked to Nesta. She slumped onto the couch, her head in her hands.

“What else am I supposed to do,” she whispered, “what else can I do, Cassian. I can’t stop thinking about it—at night, during the day, nothing helps. Nothing takes the pain away.”

Cassian sat down next to Nesta, pulling her hands away from her face. Tears flowed down her cheeks.

“I know. Nothing will take away the pain permanently. But it will fade. I promise. But this,” he said, pointing to the empty bottle, “won’t help you. Not in the long run.”

“Someti—sometimes I see Elain’s head on a pike. Sometimes it’s my father’s. But the worst…the worst is when I see you, your wings shredded, and the King tortures you. And I can’t do anything except watch as he rips you apart,” she said before the sobs racked her body and she was shaking.

Cassian pulled Nesta closer to him, wrapping her up in his arms. It was all he could do as she cried into his arms, telling him the horrors that plagued her mind.

“I have nightmares, too,” Cassian admitted, whispering into her hair, “I hear it over and over.  _I will find you in the next life. And we will have that time. I promise._ And then…then he kills you, and I can’t protect you. I can’t do anything to keep you safe. I failed.”

“We have time now,” she said against his chest.

“We do,” he said, trying to hold back a sob of his own, “but the nightmares still come. Just like yours. Sometimes, I wake up terrified that you’re gone, that the King won, and this was one giant dream. But then I wake up, and I know that you’re alive. My family is alive. Remembering that helps.”

“How do you forget—how do the nightmares, the memories—how do you get them to stop?”

“I don’t. Nothing’s going to make it go away—no amount of wine or sex or books will make you forget what you lived through. But you  _survived,_ Nes. It will get better. I promise,” he said, and held her tighter.

Nesta leaned into his touch, letting him hold her as she cried, until she stopped shaking and the tears stopped flowing down her cheeks. She looked to Cassian, eyes red and puffy. “You promise?”

“I promise, Nes. And no matter how long, no matter what, I will be here. I will help you. For whatever you need, I will be here.  _I promise_ ,” he vowed to her.

Nesta gave him the hint of a smile. Despite the horrors she’d faced, despite the nightmares that plagued her day and night…she found herself believing him.

_Together._ They’d heal together.


	6. No Promises

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cassian distracts Nesta while she's reading.

When Nesta was reading, it was dangerous to disturb her. If a book was in her hands, you left her alone. Simple as that. Elain knew, Feyre knew, hell, even Rhys and Az knew not to bother her. But Cassian…somehow, despite everything, had never learned.

He never abided by this one, simple rule. 

And he always paid for it. 

Dearly.

The first time he interrupted her, it was to tell her a story. 

“So today during training Rhys–” 

Nesta held her book up. A warning, daring him to continue. 

He didn’t get the message. 

“So, Rhys was throwing these knives at me, right? And being the warrior I am, I dodged them all. But THEN–” 

Cassian barely had time to dodge the book that went flying at his head.

The second time he interrupted her, it was to ask her a question. 

She was on the couch, book in hand, intently reading each page. 

“Hey, Nes, so for the wedding, what colors were you thinking?” 

Nesta raised her eyes from the page and narrowed them at the Illyrian. 

“I know, I know, you’re reading,” he said, putting his hands up, “but this is important.” 

She kept staring. 

“Nes, come on–”

Again, the book went flying, hitting him in the ribs. 

“I didn’t deserve that!” 

She cocked her head, as if to say,  _yes, you did._

Cassian opened his mouth to say something, but closed it again, opting to pick up her book and let her resume her reading. 

Nesta smiled a bit.  _Smart choice._

The third time Cassian interrupted her, he got away with it. 

She was reading her latest romance on the couch, the story just about consuming her. She was in another world, a realm of princes and princesses, of enemies to lovers, and didn’t even notice Cassian walking through the door. 

“Hey Nes,” he said, but she didn’t reply. Didn’t even notice he was home. 

_Curious._

Nesta didn’t notice him until he came up behind the couch, behind  _her_ , and started peppering kisses into her hair. 

She jerked back, surprised by his touch as his arms wrapped around her. “What– _Cassian?”_

“Hi Nes,” he said as she lifted her head back, only to see Cassian kiss the top of her head again, then her forehead. 

“Go away,” she said blandly. 

“Nes,” he replied between kisses, moving to her cheek, then the side of her mouth, “I just want to say hi.” 

“You’ve done as much. Now go away, I’m reading,” she said, and resumed her book, ignoring him and his kisses. 

But Cassian just flung himself onto the couch, right next to Nesta, and kissed her cheek. 

“ _Cassian.”_

_“Nesta,”_ he crooned in response, and kissed her again.  _  
_

And again. 

He moved from her lips–which she refused to open for him–to her chin, and down to her neck. 

She let out a breathless gasp, and he moved further down her neck, his lips caressing her body as he moved from her neck, to her chest…

She put her book down. 

And then she grabbed Cassian and flung herself on top of him, and  _she_ was kissing him. She pressed against the corner of his mouth, and then finally, she crushed her lips against his, and Cassian groaned, opening his mouth for her.

“Nes,” he breathed, his voice a caress on her skin. 

She pulled him closer, tangling her hands through his hair. “Stop…talking,” she replied, and resumed kissing him, until she was exploring his body, her lips tracing the muscles on his arms, his chest. There wasn’t an area on his body she hadn’t kissed by the time they were done.

“Never distract me again,” she said to him, nestled in his arms on the couch.

Cassian only chuckled and flicked her nose. 

“No promises.” 


	7. I Want You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Azriel learns what jealousy feels like.

Elain was going on a date. 

With a male. 

Who wasn’t Azriel. 

She primped and primed, and by the time she was done, she looked absolutely beautiful. Azriel already thought she was the most beautiful female he’d ever seen, but now…well, it just cemented it for him. 

He was in love, and she didn’t love him back. 

And he didn’t deserve her love, anyway. She was too good, too pure, a light in the darkness. Azriel was only darkness. He didn’t deserve her light, her joy… 

But seeing her tonight, well, it just about killed him. Each of his thoughts was trained on Elain, the gentle flower-grower, and how she was on a date. 

Cauldron, what he would give to be the one sitting across the table from her, holding her hand and exchanging stories of their past and hopes for the future. Or, that’s what he assumed was happening, as he watched them from the shadows. 

He tried not to follow her. After she gave him a quick hug and goodbye, he tried to stay home. He had a drink. Then another. And another. He fell into his shadows, hiding from the knowledge that Elain was out with another male. But nothing seemed to work. It was a bad idea, he knew, but he couldn’t stop himself as he took to the skies and found Elain and her mystery male, walking to a restaurant, hand in hand, laughing all the way.

It wasn’t even a  _good_ restaurant, Azriel noted as they stepped inside. This male…this male had terrible taste. 

Elain deserved better. 

He let his shadows consume him while he landed on a nearby ledge, hidden from view. The couple had a spot by the window.  _Great,_ Azriel thought, then chided himself for it. This was Elain’s business, not his, he had  _no right_ to be here, watching her, invading her privacy. 

But maybe this male was a creep, and he needed to be here to make sure she was safe. 

So he stayed, silently watching their meal, and hating himself every minute for it. 

Watching them was painful. With every laugh she gave him, every smile, Azriel wished he could be the one to make her happy. Instead, here he was, on a balcony, watching the female he loves smile at another male. He was pathetic. Absolutely pathetic. 

Wings drooping and head down, Azriel was ready to escape this pit of self-loathing he’d created for himself. So he took one last glance at the window–and could have sworn he saw Elain looking right at him, her eyes narrowed, as if calculating. 

Cauldron, if she saw him…

No. She couldn’t have seen him. He was wrapped in his shadows, practically invisible to the world. But if she did…

Azriel stopped thinking, and readied himself to fly home. But then he saw Elain lean over the table, her date doing the same. 

And then she kissed him. 

Azriel wanted– _needed–_ to look away. He wanted to be her date. He wanted to be the male she kissed…and he wanted to make sure that male would never kiss her again.  _Mother above,_ he thought, hating himself for even thinking that,  _is this…is this what jealousy is like?_

He didn’t let himself ponder the question as he shot into the air and flew home. 

***

Azriel had been on the balcony of the townhouse for an hour. Maybe longer. 

He sighed, and looked at the wine bottle in his hand. Empty. He was too tired to get another one. 

It dropped out of his hand, clanging against the pavement, echoing like…like the footsteps he heard behind him. He didn’t bother to look, didn’t care who it was, until…

“Az?” 

_Elain._

“Hey, Elain. How was your date?” His voice was cooler than usual. 

“Fine, but…I don’t think he’s  for me,” she said, taking a seat beside him.

He raised his eyebrows. 

“I think,” she continued, “I prefer the male who was on the balcony, watching my date.” 

Azriel’s heart skipped a beat.  _Shit._

“Elain–I–I can–” He stammered, red flooding his cheeks. 

“I was kind of banking on you following me,” she said, chuckling a bit. 

_Wait, what?_

“I want  _you,_ Az, but you never seemed to take the hint.” She poked him in the shoulder. “So I took it into my own hands. Maybe if I made you jealous…”

Azriel forced a laugh. “It worked.” 

“So–”

“Elain,” he said, finally turning towards her, “I’ve wanted you–loved you–for months. Years, even. But I never thought…never thought I’d be worthy of you.”

“Az…”

“No, Elain, I mean it. You’re such a beacon of light, of hope, and I’m–I’m just…darkness. How could you want me?” he said, and she took his hand in hers. 

“Azriel, I love you. I want  _you._ Not some male who can’t even kiss me properly,” she replied. 

“You…do?” 

“How many times am I going to have to tell you before you believe me,” she said with a smile. 

“Hopefully not too many more,” he said, pulling her into her arms. 

“Well, I’m happy to tell you whenever you’d like,” she said, and kissed him.


	8. Allow Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rhys distracts Feyre from her duties as High Lady.

“Come here,” Rhys purred, gesturing to the chair where he now sat. 

“Not a chance,” Feyre replied, “I have work to do.” 

It was true. As High Lady, as well as a business owner, she was plenty busy these days. Between managing expenses for her and Ressina’s art studio and signing off on paperwork, she was a busy female. 

And she had no time for Rhys’s antics. Not today. 

She wanted to, though. Wished she had the time. With her schedule, and Rhys’s utterly chaotic life, too, it was hard for them to spend any moments together aside from sleeping. Hell, every night before bed, they only managed to get out a few words about their day before passing out from sheer exhaustion. 

So Rhys should’ve known she was busy, as she at at her desk signing paperwork and making lists of paints and brushes she needed to buy for her studio. 

“But you’re always so good at multitasking,” Rhys crooned, “and I want to be with my mate.” 

Feyre scowled. “You’re with your mate right now, and she has work to do. See?” She pointed to the list. And then to the stack of paperwork. 

“We haven’t had any time together in  _weeks,_ Feyre Darling, I miss you. Please?” 

“You miss me? You see me every day! We sleep together every night,” She joked, spinning around in her chair to look at him. 

“We  _cuddle_ every night. We don’t  _sleep_  together,” Rhys said, wriggling his eyebrows.

“You’re insufferable, you know that?” 

Rhys sent an image down the bond, just for her.  _I miss…this, amongst other things._

Feyre rolled her eyes. But she missed it, too. Missed the times when exhaustion didn’t plague them every day and night…when time together didn’t just mean sleeping. 

And Mother above, this paperwork was boring. 

“Come here,” Rhys repeated.

“Are you trying to distract me?” 

“Amongst other things,” he said. 

Feyre raised her eyebrows. 

Rhys raised his right back.  _Come here._

She shot to her feet, walking the few steps it took to get to her mate. 

“Scoot,” Feyre said.

_Oh, I have a better idea._

_What–_  Feyre started, but Rhys’s hands were already on her hips, pulling her down onto his lap. 

“See? Better,” he said, giving her a wicked smile. 

“You won’t see me complaining,” she replied with giggle. 

His violet eyes gleamed with delight at Feyre’s laugh, her smile, her scent.

“I love you,” he breathed, pressing his forehead to hers. 

And then his lips were on hers, and he was kissing her. 

He was gentle, his lips lightly brushing each corner of her mouth. But before Feyre could register what was happening, he pulled away, eyes dancing.

_Prick._

Rhys smiled, but then his eyes shot open, wide, as Feyre grabbed him by the collar, pulled him close, and crushed her lips against his, her tongue pressing at the space between his lips. His mouth opened for her, and her tongue grazed the roof of his mouth, tasting him. 

_Cauldron,_ she missed this. Missed  _him._

“Better than paperwork?” he asked, pulling away, his voice heavy.

“Much better,” she replied, and kissed him again, until her lips were red and swollen and she knew exactly where this was going to end.

_Bed?_ Rhys nodded his head toward the door.

_No,_ Feyre shot back, her eyes alight with mischief,  _I think here will do just fine._

_Then allow me, Feyre Darling._


	9. Date Night

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Feyre and Rhys get competitive on date night

Rhys loved date night. It was the only time during the week they truly could enjoy each other. No distractions, no work, but most importantly, they were  _alone._

It used to be fancy. Rhys would winnow (or fly, depending on distance) them to some fancy restaurant, sometimes in Velaris, sometimes in other courts altogether. Feyre would never forget the time they dined in the Winter Court. Viviane and Kallias certainly didn’t lie–they had some of the best food Feyre had ever had. 

Tonight, she’d suggested going there again. But Rhys had said no, instead opting for a night in at the Townhouse. 

And somehow, he’d managed to get everyone out, leaving their date night undisturbed–a rarity, if they chose to stay in Velaris. 

Rhys cooked–yes,  _cooked–_ dinner, luckily not burning it. He claimed he didn’t have help, but Feyre had a suspicion that Nuala and Cerridwen weren’t kicked out. There was absolutely no way Rhys could cook like this–or cook at all. Not even Elain could teach him the basics without Rhys burning or undercooking everything he touched. So when Feyre expressed as much, Rhys vehemently denied it, until she caught Nuala poking her head out of the kitchen. Feyre started laughing as Rhys feigned innocence, telling Feyre “I didn’t know they were here!” until she was laughing so hard tears spilled down her face. 

But dinner eventually finished, and dessert came, delicious as always, and they had the rest of the night–and the townhouse–to themselves. 

“Whatever shall we do now, Feyre Darling, with the place to ourselves?” Rhys asked, wriggling his eyebrows. 

“You already have something in mind, don’t you,” Feyre replied. 

Rhys grinned, beaming, as he walked to the closet and brought out their hefty stack of board games. “Pick one,” he said, holding out the stack to her. 

“A board game? On date night?” She raised her eyebrows at him, but he only nodded to the stack, as if to say,  _pick one._

So she closed her eyes and picked one at random. Apparently, she’d chosen Rhys’s favorite game, the purple packaging sparkling as he set up the game. 

“Rules?” Feyre asked, picking up a star-shaped board piece and examining it.

“Pick a token–that’ll be your piece that moves around the board. Then just roll the dice and move that number of spaces. If you land on a property, you can buy it or leave it. If I own it and you land on it, then you owe me money. The goal of the game, though, is to bankrupt the other person. And,” he said with a feline smile, “I always win.” 

She picked up her token–the star-shaped piece–and placed it on the first square. “Let’s see about that,” she said, and rolled the dice. 

Six hours later, they were tied, each owning half of the board, each nearly bankrupting the other with every turn. 

“It’s been  _hours,_ Rhys. Truce?” Feyre pleaded, her eyes heavy and tired. 

“Never!” He cried, and rolled the dice. 

Feyre sighed. “Can we at least pause? Until tomorrow?” 

Rhys thought about it for a moment. “Fine. But first thing tomorrow, we start again.” 

She nodded.  _It’s a deal._

“But let’s do one more round,” he said, and Feyre rolled her eyes.

“Come on, Rhys, I’m tired.”

“But Feyyyyre,” her mate whined, pouting, “date night isn’t over yet!”

“It is when you’re exhausted,” she replied, and slumped down into her chair. 

_Please?_ He sent over the bond, exaggerating a pout. 

_Date night can continue,_ she sent back,  _upstairs._

Rhys raised his eyebrows.  _I thought you were tired._

_Upstairs to_ sleep,  _you insufferable Illyrian._

Rhys chuckled and took Feyre in his arms, carrying her up the stairs and to their bedroom. She sighed, closing her eyes as he laid her down onto the bed, gently, and then took his place beside her. 

_Better?_ He asked. 

_Better,_ she replied, and turned to face him. 

_You know,_ she said,  _I think you’re right. Date night isn’t over yet._

_Hmm–_

Rhys didn’t have the chance to ask what she meant before she flipped him onto his back and straddled him. 

And then she kissed him. 

It wasn’t a gentle kiss. She crashed her lips against his, her want–her  _need_ –for her mate coursing through her body, right to her core, as she kissed him again and again. 

_Feyre Darling,_ Rhys sent down the bond,  _I thought you were tired._

_Date night isn’t over yet,_ she breathed, before her lips met his again, and his mouth opened for her. She threw every bit of desire into her kiss, until he began to grind against her, thrusting his hips up, up to reach her.

_Not yet,_ she teased, and moved to kiss the corners of his lips, his jaw, and down his neck. Rhys groaned as she moved down his body, lingering with every kiss, and then back up again, her lips back on his. 

_Tease,_ he sent down the bond. 

Feyre chuckled, kissing him again. 

But then he flipped her over, and he was kissing her. Down her neck, her stomach, to her core…

_My turn, Feyre Darling._


	10. Five Course Meal

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Azriel tries to help Elain create the perfect 5 course meal

It took a lot to piss off Azriel. 

And Elain, well…she’d just happened to push the right buttons. 

It had been a nice enough morning, though, Elain supposed. 

***

“Good morning, Love,” Az said, peppering kisses onto her forehead.

Elain, still groggy, mumbled something along the lines of “sleep. keep–sleeping.” Az chuckled, and nudged her again. 

“You need to wake up, El,” he said, getting out of bed, “you  _did_ promise a five course meal today.” 

Now  _that_ shot her out of bed, her brown eyes going wide at the reminder. Tying her hair in a knot atop her head, Elain dashed to the bathroom, and then to the kitchen of their cottage, where she planned to remain all day. 

Months ago, she’d promised her family that she’d cook for them–a full dinner, she’d said. But she’d forgotten about it until now. Until  _this morning,_ when Az so graciously woke her up. And to plan five courses? She should have been thinking about this for weeks, creating the menu in her head, debating what flavors would go together best… _shit. Shit shit shit._

“Everything okay, Love?” Azriel asked, placing a hand on her back, “you seem…stressed.” 

Stressed didn’t even cover it. She must have said as much, because Azriel immediately asked what was going on. How he could help. 

“I…I screwed up,” she sighed, leaning into his touch, “I didn’t remember dinner was supposed to be tonight, and…I have nothing. No menu, no ideas, nothing.” She pointed to the empty kitchen, emphasizing her point. 

“We can figure something out, I promise,” he replied, pulling her close, wrapping his arms tightly around her. 

Elain raised her brows at him. “Why don’t we just call this whole thing off?” 

“Because,” he started, “we’re going to plan the perfect menu now. It can’t take that long, right?” 

Elain knew that menus took weeks to make, to prepare, but she smiled at him, at his enthusiasm and willingness to help, and said, “sure. Let’s get started.” 

Azriel’s menu was a disaster, though she refused to say as much. 

_Red wine with fish?_ He’d asked, and Elain sighed. If they were to do fish, they needed a  _white_ wine, and she told him as much. He simply said that rules were meant to be broken. 

She huffed and rolled her eyes at him. No, that would not do. 

After an hour, they had an appetizer and first course, courtesy of Azriel. And his piss poor menu. She tried telling him, but…he was so excited, so enthusiastic. She could handle two bad courses, so long as she selected the rest–without his help. So she sent him off to the market to get ingredients, and to start cooking. 

Elain racked her brain, searching for a dish that would go with Azriel’s selections.  _None_. There were absolutely no dishes that would taste good, let alone work with, the menu he’d started to create.

She saw only one option left for her–create the rest of the menu, and change Azriel’s ridiculous suggestions. Mother above, she hated to do this, but…she didn’t think she had a choice. Azriel couldn’t match wines with dishes, and he certainly didn’t know how to create a menu. She gave him points for trying, though. 

And she hoped Azriel wouldn’t take offense when he inevitably found out that she’d changed his    _Create new ones._ She only hoped Azriel wouldn’t find out–or at least, maybe when he did he’d understand. 

She rushed to create a new menu, her mind racing through the recipes she’d made over the years, until…there. Five courses she was certain would send her family’s taste buds fluttering. 

Granted, not one of Azriel’s picks were on there. 

So when he walked into the kitchen, fresh ingredients in hand and smiling bright, Elain couldn’t help but feel just a tad bit guilty. 

“Ready to cook, Love?” He asked, putting the ingredients on the counter. 

“Um, yeah, sure, let’s get started…” she said, trailing off. 

Az didn’t seem to notice her hesitation as he grabbed the tentative menu and read it over, his eyes narrowing at the piece of paper. “Elain, Love, is this the menu? I could’ve sworn…” 

“It’s the menu,” she said tightly. 

“But…it’s missing something, right?” 

“Nope, that’s it. That’s all.” 

“But the appetizer,” he said, pointing to the menu and then to the ingredients on the counter, “I bought this stuff specifically for…oh.  _Oh.”_

Elain couldn’t hide the guilt on her face. “Az, I’m so sorry, just…” 

He dragged a hand through his hair. “Were you going to tell me you changed it? That you got rid of my suggestions?” 

“Yes…eventually,” she said so quietly even he had trouble hearing it. 

“Eventually? Were you going to let me help cook all of this,” he said, waving his hand over the counter, “and then tell me we weren’t serving it?” 

“I wasn’t going to let you get that far,” she murmured. 

“What was that?” 

“Nothing, Az,” she sighed, walking to him. 

“Elain, I just…we’re going to  _waste_ all of this food. And for what? Because you think your menu is better? I thought we were coming up with it together!”

“I mean mine is better,” she replied. 

“We were going to do it  _together._ And you just went and changed it!” 

“Because you can’t put together a menu!”

_“What?”_

“Your menu was the  _worst._ The appetizer? Fine. The first course? It didn’t even match!”

“It did!” 

“No, Az, it didn’t! And when I went to think up the rest of the menu,  _nothing went with the food you picked_.” 

She moved closer, until they were mere inches apart, his hazel eyes boring into her. But she didn’t care, her frustration getting the better of her. “ _You don’t know how to cook Az, let alone make a_ menu  _for a five course meal.”_

Azriel cocked his head, assessing, and opened his mouth to speak. Closed it. 

And then his lips crashed into hers. 

He put his frustration, his anger, his  _everything_  into that kiss as she opened her mouth for him, and his tongue grazed over her teeth, moving to the roof of her mouth. Elain stifled a groan, pulling him closer to her, dragging her fingers through his hair, down his back. Mother above, she wanted to touch him.  _Needed_  to touch him. 

But just for a second, she pulled back, looking up into his hazel eyes. “You’re not  _that_ bad of a cook, you know,” she conceded, giving him a slight smile. 

He pulled her back to him. “If you say so,” Az chuckled, and brought his lips down to hers once again. 


	11. Swords at the Ready

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cassian trains with Nesta

Nesta grunted, the weight of the sword heavy in her hand. 

“You need to balance yourself,” Cassian said from across the training ring, “like this.” He planted his feet on the ground, bending his knees a little bit, and lifted his own sword, the blade perfectly balanced in his hand. 

They’d practiced this before–with wooden swords and sticks. Today, though, was her first chance to play with a real blade. And holy Mother above, it was  _heavy._

“I’m…trying,” she said, her legs shoulder length apart, her knees bent, elbows in position, but…she couldn’t hold the sword with one hand, let alone swing it. It fell to the ground, the noise muffled as it fell onto the dirt. Nesta huffed. “Can’t I have a smaller one? Or a lighter one?” 

“No,” Cassian replied, “you need to learn how to hold a real sword. Not those tiny, lightweight ones. Those won’t do anything in battle.” He swung his sword at the target, knocking off its head.  _Point taken._

He’d given her one of his own swords. His favorite, he’d said, as he handed her the hilt. Even Nesta had to admit, it was pretty. The silver gleamed in the sunlight, and the ruby in the hilt reminded her of his seven siphons, each a deep red, matching his sword. She hadn’t wanted to take it from him. Hell, she’d given every excuse as to why she wouldn’t take it, her favorite being that she didn’t want to ruin his outfit–the hilt did match perfectly with those siphons and his leathers, she’d said. He simply rolled his eyes and held out the hilt, telling Nesta to take it as a reward for finally training. 

Cassian swung his blade around and around, as Nesta tried–and failed–to hold the sword in her hand again. He sauntered over to her, smirking all the way. 

“Wipe that smirk off your face,” she said, picking up the sword. If she held it with two hands, then she could…

“It seems there’s something I can finally teach you,” he said, his eyes alight with mischief, “take your other hand off. You need to learn to hold it properly.” 

Nesta rolled her eyes, but did as he asked. His smirk only grew in response. 

“Now balance. If you can balance the blade, you’ll have no trouble holding it. And using it. Here,” he said, and moved behind her, wrapping his arms around her arms. 

“What are you–” 

“I’m  _helping,_ like a good trainer.” He took her hand in his and guided it down, until she was holding the bottom of the hilt. 

“This doesn’t seem right,” she said. 

“Trust me,” was all he said in response, “now legs apart, shoulder width, knees bent a little.” 

She did as he said. 

He moved to her elbows, now, taking her other hand and taking it off of the sword. “One hand only, remember? Now, bend you elbows a little bit. Yes, exactly like that.” 

Her lips upturned at the praise. 

But then he let go. Nesta was almost certain that the sword would drop, like every other time, but…

“Good. Good, Nes, exactly like that.” 

She was holding her sword. With one hand. And it wasn’t about to fall. 

“Now,” he said, smiling at her, “try swinging it in an arc. Right at the target.” He pointed to the beheaded target closet to them. 

She walked towards it, sword perfectly balanced in her hand, and swung, taking off the right arm, then the left. 

Nesta smiled at the small success. 

“We’re done for today,” Cassian said, “be ready to use that sword. We start combat training tomorrow.” 

Nesta’s smile was feline, ferocious, as she asked, “why not start now?” 

Cassian laughed, but drew his sword, ready to fight. 

“Game on.” 


	12. I'll Take the Floor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cassian and Nesta find themselves at an inn with only one bed

“No.” 

“Nesta, we don’t really have a choice here.” 

“No,” Nesta repeated, louder, harsher this time, “I’m not doing it.” 

Cassian huffed, falling into the nearby chair and putting his head in his hands. “It’s the only option they have unless we want to sleep in the forest.” 

“I’d gladly take the forest over  _one bed,”_ she spat at him. 

When Cassian agreed to bring Nesta out on a mission to one of the Illyrian camps, he hadn’t expected the journey there to be so…difficult. 

For starters, they had to make the journey on foot, given Nesta’s refusal to fly. Cassian tried to argue, but it was no use. What should’ve taken three days, now took almost a week. 

And then there was Nesta, who barely spoke to him as they journeyed on, aside from a few curses and the occasional “insufferable bat.” He’d gladly embraced the nickname, telling her that he’d be less  _insufferable_ if she’d just let them fly to the destination. 

She simply said no, and that was that. 

But Nesta deserved credit. She didn’t stop moving, didn’t slow down, as they trekked through the forests, only stopping for meal breaks and rests. Despite her grumbling, she was a good traveler. 

One who Cassian was–surprisingly–glad to have with him. 

Most nights, they managed to find a town with an inn and multiple bedrooms ready for them. They were cheap enough, and he was glad for the bed. And the shower. He was positive Nesta was, too. For as swiftly as they moved, the dirt and mud of the forest eventually managed to cake onto their clothes and their skin, right on top of a layer of sweat. And even with the grime, Nesta didn’t say a word. Didn’t complain about the dirt, instead choosing only to complain about the male beside her and his stench. 

She didn’t seem to realize that for as bad as he may have smelled, she was right there, smelling alongside him. 

Every night they slept in an inn, cleaning themselves off and heading towards their respective rooms. 

Until tonight, when the owner told Cassian that there was only one room available. And one bed. 

She refused to speak, other than a simple  _no,_ repeated over and over as Cassian tried to convince her. 

“No.” 

“Nesta it’s freezing, don’t be this stubborn. You’re not sleeping in the forest.” 

“Well I’m certainly not sleeping in a bed. With you,” she said, refusing to look at him. 

“I’ll take the floor.” 

Nesta’s head lifted as she looked at him, opened her mouth, and then closed it again. 

“You can have the bed,” he said, “all I’ll need is a pillow. C’mon, Nes, just…I’m not letting you freeze. And we need sleep, we can’t keep going like this.” 

She took a deep breath, and said, “fine. But you’re on the floor.” 

“Deal,” he said with a hesitant smile, before walking back to the owner of the inn and handing him a few silver pieces. 

Cassian came back with a key. “Let’s go.” 

Nesta only followed, saying nothing as they walked up the stairs and to the room. 

The room wasn’t large, by any means. The queen-sized bed took up a majority of the space, set in the middle of the bedroom, followed by a small dresser along one of the walls. There was no chair, no desk…just the bed and the floor, it seemed, for sleeping. 

“There,” Nesta said, tossing him a pillow and blanket from the bed before hopping into it herself, sighing at the comfort of the mattress. Cassian laughed at the sound, before excusing himself to find the bath, and subtly suggesting Nesta do the same once he returned. 

But by the time he came back, she was fast asleep, snoring lightly under the covers. It was no use arguing to share the bed, not when it would require waking her up–and he was in no mood to deal with a rudely awakened Nesta today. 

So he took up his spot on the floor and tried to get comfortable.

***

Nesta awoke to the sound of chattering teeth. 

“ _Cassian,”_ she hissed, turning on her side to face the warrior on the ground. 

He was asleep, but…the blanket didn’t seem to do much for warmth, for Cassian wasn’t only chattering his teeth, but his entire body seemed to be shaking–shivering–from the cold. 

“Cassian?” she asked, trying to get his attention. The warrior didn’t stir, didn’t awake. 

Raising her voice, she repeated his name.

“ _CASSIAN.”_

He shot up, the blanket falling off of his body, before looking at Nesta, her face illuminated by the candlelight. “Nesta?” 

“You’re shaking.” 

Cassian shrugged. “It’s cold.” 

He could see Nesta mulling something over in her head, but…

“Get into bed. With me.” 

He hadn’t expected that. “Are you sure?” 

“I don’t want you to die of hypothermia.” 

He chuckled. “It’s not  _that_ cold, Nes. If you don’t want me to, I’m happy to–” 

“Just get into the bed. Please,” she said, before laying back down. 

The mattress groaned under his weight, and then he was beside Nesta, right under the covers with her. His wings, though…

“You can wrap them around me. If you want. If you need to stretch them out.” 

“I’ll have to scoot closer to you for that.” 

“Okay. It’s warmer that way, anyway,” was all Nesta said. 

So he wrapped his wings around her before pulling the covers back over them, the warmth a comforting presence. 

Nesta moved closer to him. “Put your arm around me.” 

Cassian’s eyes widened. “What?” 

“It’s cold. I thought…maybe I could give you some of my warmth. And vice versa.” 

He obliged, wrapping an arm around her waist and pulling her closer to him.

“Good night, Cassian.” 

“Night, Nes,” he replied, and he could’ve sworn he felt Nesta smile at his reply. 


	13. I Need You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Elain and Azriel realize their feelings for each other.

Looking up at the sky, Elain frowned. 

It had been three weeks since she’d seen Azriel, three weeks since that…awkward encounter. That, she realized, was putting it sweetly. For Azriel, though, he probably never wanted to see her again. 

She’d been in love with Azriel for a while now. Ever since the war, ever since he started checking in on her, seeing how she was holding up–even bringing her a plate from dinner when she couldn’t be bothered to get out of bed, when memories of her father would overtake her–she’d known her feelings were more than friendly. 

Whether he felt the same, she didn’t know. Gestures like that could just have been friendly, could just have been him understanding what she was going through…but she’d had a feeling. And dreams.  

Of Azriel, of them, together, two souls entwined, alight with smiles as he held her in his arms. In those dreams, he flew her around Velaris–around the world, even–his smile a beacon in the darkness. And every morning when she woke up, she wondered if those dreams were…prophetic in a way, like the visions she’d had during the war. These were certainly as frequent, and without a doubt as real as those had been, but she didn’t want to hope for nothing. Particularly if they were just dreams, and nothing more. 

And then there was the matter of the garden they’d cultivated together. The roses, peonies, flowers of every shape and color that they’d spent day after day tending and growing.  _That,_ she remembered, had been at Azriel’s insistence. She’d thought growing too many flowers would be too much for her to take on, especially with all of the greenery already growing on the roof. But he’d insisted, and even offered to help, promising that if the flowers died, he’d take full responsibility–and get her more seeds. 

But the flowers hadn’t died. Actually, they’d done the opposite, and proved Azriel had as green of a thumb as Elain, though he never took credit for any of it. She begged him to, even demanded that he admit that he’d helped grow the lilies and tulips, but he wouldn’t budge, not one bit. No matter that he’d gotten his hands and clothes and wings covered in dirt. This garden was hers, he’d claimed, and he was simply an aid. All of the work belonged to her. It was her magic that made them grow. When she told him she didn’t have that sort of magic, he shushed her, even giving her a rare smile and wink.  _It is your magic,_ he’d seemed to say,  _and don’t doubt it for a second._

It was that very night that she’d admitted her love for Azriel. Not to herself–she’d known that for some time–but to him. 

And it hadn’t been with words. 

They’d been gardening, clipping some bushes that had overgrown. He’d been glancing over at her every once in a while, giving her a shy smile that made her eyes sparkle. And when he placed his hand on hers, telling her how beautiful the garden looked, she could’ve sworn the gleam in his eyes meant he wasn’t just talking about the garden. Maybe she’d just seen what she wanted to see. 

When she’d entwined her fingers with his and moved to kiss his cheek, she hand’t expected his entire body to stiffen, as though he were surprised by the contact. Nor had she expected the prompt goodbye as he shook off her touch and launched himself into the sky.

She waited until he was nothing but a speck in the sky before she let herself shed a tear. She’d been wrong. Her instincts, her dreams…they’d led her here. To this point. 

And yet, he’d left her on the rooftop without even so much as a goodbye. 

* * *

Elain missed Azriel. 

Every night he was gone, she forced herself to go to the rooftop, despite the embarrassment that lingered in that space. She tried to lose herself in gardening, tried to relax and enjoy herself as she planted flowers and tended to the flourishing garden, but then she would hear the flapping of wings. See a shadow coming towards her. 

It was always Feyre, or Cassian, or Rhys, who came to check on her. 

Never Azriel. 

Still, she wished. Though most days, now, she didn’t bother to look up at the sky, not when she always knew who was coming home. 

So when she heard the flapping of wings as she tended to her garden, when she saw the shadow growing larger as it prepared to land, she didn’t bother looking up. 

It was only when she heard a soft voice, as though it was muffled by shadows, call out to her, that she looked up. 

“Elain.” 

* * *

Elain’s eyes widened, though she tried to hide the shock on her face. “Azriel.” 

“I’m…can we sit somewhere? I owe you an apology.” 

She stiffened. “Of course.” 

He led her to the nearby bench, sitting down to face her. 

“That night, Elain, I’m–” 

“I’m sorry, Az. I shouldn’t have thought that you…” 

“No, no, Elain, I’m the one who should be apologizing. I’m so sorry.” 

Elain’s eyes watered as he repeated the words, over and over. And then he took her hand, and interlaced her fingers with his. 

“When you took my hands, when you tried…when you  _wanted_ to kiss me, I wanted it, too. Wanted it more than I can explain. I just…I haven’t been touched like that in a–a long time.” 

“I shouldn’t have tried, Azriel. It was my fault. I–” 

“No, no, Elain. I  _wanted_ you to. I’ve wanted the same thing for a while now. I just…reacted poorly. It was a shock, that’s all.” 

“And that’s why you flew away, leaving me humiliated? For three weeks, I waited. I wanted to explain to you what had happened–I wanted to apologize. But you were gone.  _For three weeks, Az.”_ Elain tried to hold in the sob that threatened to break free, but couldn’t. 

Azriel squeezed her hand. “I have no excuse for my actions, Elain. I shouldn’t have left. I…needed to figure things out. For myself.” 

“You  _left_ me, Azriel, on that rooftop. Humiliated, and alone. I thought I’d ruined everything.” 

Tears began to fall down Azriel’s cheeks. “How can I atone, Elain. I will do  _anything._ I need you. Three weeks ago, I was too afraid to admit it. To myself, and to you. But  _I need you.”_

“You…what?” Elain asked, scooting herself closer to Azriel. He put his free arm around her, and drew her close. 

“ _I need you,”_ he repeated. 

Again, she moved closer. “Say it again. Tell me that you need me.” 

“ _I need you,”_ he breathed, and claimed her mouth with his. 

**Author's Note:**

> If you'd like to send me a prompt, I'm librarian-of-velaris on tumblr, or just let me know in the comments! I love writing them and they'll be posted as chapters on here.
> 
> xoxo,
> 
> Zoe


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